


Silver and Gold

by NotTasha



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1: In the Silver Light - Ezra is jailed in another town, and wonders if anyone will even believe him when he gets home.<br/>Part 2: A Golden Glow  - Ezra returns to Four Corners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Silver Light

**Author's Note:**

> RATING: PG... for some light swearing  
> STATUS: Complete  
> CATEGORY: OW - Challenge Story  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra  
> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
> NOTE: This is in response to Jean Genie's March 2001 Magnifiction Challange. "It's Ezra's birthday and for some reason he is on his own. The aim is to write a short reflective/introspective piece on his feelings and his looking back over the previous year. It can be OW or any AU you choose."  
> DATE: Originally posted March 17, 2001

A lantern burned low in the office, but the rays did not reach the cell. Rather, the confined place was bathed in a silvery light. It was filthy place, greasy and dusty and not meant for decent folk. The full moon hung outside the window, tempting and serene in the June sky, bleaching the color from the world, turning it all black and white. Through that strange light, a man relentlessly moved back and forth. He’d reach one end of the narrow cell and turn to cross it again, endless etching a pointless path.

Ezra Standish paced in the dusty, dirty, greasy, filthy, colorless, silvery cell. 

Wonderful, he thought, simply wonderful. He touched his swollen and blackened eye tenderly, then examined a tear at the elbow of his jacket. He sighed to see the fine cloth treated so poorly. Absolutely marvelous.

The atrociously thin mattress did not call for him as he continued his movements past the cot. It was an obvious nest for vermin, and he dared not rest upon it, so instead he paced. 

Perfect. Yes, this is perfect.

He had been sent on this inane mission that morning. He'd had plans in Four Corners, but Larabee had told him to forget them. Something far more important needed to be attended to. So, instead of spending this day at his leisure, Ezra had spent it on the trail, blowing into town in the heat of the afternoon. He had taken care of the required business immediately upon his arrival. It could just as easily have been done with a well-worded telegram, but Larabee had insisted that Ezra talk to the banker in person about that business with the cattle ranch.

That superfluous deed behind him, Ezra had repaired to the saloon for a relaxing evening of gaming. The morning might have been a total waste, but at least the evening might prove fruitful, might give him some enjoyment. That was, at least until the idiot with the marked deck tried to put one past him.

Well, no one cheats Ezra P. Standish. The row that followed was considerable. When the dust settled and the deputy arrived with guns drawn, one man was believed and the other was thrown summarily in the hoosegow.

Fine, wonderful, marvelous, perfect.

Ezra paced back and forth in the low light, drawing a groan from the half-asleep deputy who told him for the umpteenth time to sit down because he was getting dizzy and the reminded him to keep his mouth shut or face the consequences.

Ezra grimaced, thinking that the deputy must already be dizzy if he believed the story that the cheater had told. And he needed no further reminder to remain silent. He touched his eye dolefully, reminded that the deputy had struck him where the cheater had already laid a claim. He turned his back to the lawman, from whom he’d find no justice, and gazed out the window of his cell. The moon hung high in the sky like a marvelous ornament. His eyes fastened on white Luna for a moment.

Why did it always have to turn out like this? He had such a perfect day planned. It was supposed to be special this time. He had planned rise late and lunch perhaps with the others, to spend part of the day reading quietly, part riding for the pure joy of it, a hot bath, a good meal, an excellent cognac, a night of gaming with friends, laughing, talking, winning. 

What happened? How did it all get thrown to hell? 

Well, what did he expect? He should have realized exactly what would happen -- for it always ended this way -- on this particular day of the year.

Today marked the anniversary of his birth, another year on the planet, his birthday. 

Typical.

It wasn't an important day. Not red-lettered on any calendar. He had long lived with the knowledge that it wasn't a holiday to be celebrated. But even so, he always tried to make the date enjoyable for himself, to plan a little 'something special'. But it always went awry, like now.

Funny, because he had thought it would be different this time. This recent career with the peacekeepers of Four Corners had awakened some dim hope in him. The close associations, the (dare he think) friendships had come to mean something to him. Perhaps his dreams would be quashed. Perhaps the wind would be at his back and the sun would shine favorably. Perhaps, for once, he'd have a pleasurable birthday. 

Things can go well, can't they? Well, not today.

One day in the year is pretty much like all the rest, isn't it? Why should this one be special? 

He continued pacing about in the small confines, releasing the nervous energy that the short-lived fight had engendered. The deputy had promised him that he'd be freed by tomorrow afternoon -- if he behaved.

Ezra snorted at that thought. Well, we’ll see about that. 

He could stay on his feet all night with a little effort. Lord, he wasn't going near that cot -- that was certain. He’d simply have to send word in the morning to Larabee, explaining the delay.

He sighed at the thought. The others didn’t have to know about his short incarceration, did they? Perhaps he could just smooth it past them. 

Well, doubtlessly they’d realize something had happened when they noticed the rather impressive black eye. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad by then. Ezra tried to open the offended eye further and realized that it was slowly swelling shut. Well, there was little chance of this going unnoticed – it was only going to get worse, considering the dual assault. The others would pounce on him the moment he entered Four Corners.

Hell, they'll think the worst, he thought. They'll probably decide the whole story before my mouth is even open. I’ll be tried and found guilty before I cross the threshold. They’ll believe me to be the perpetrator of the fight and I won’t even be able to comprehend the fact that I tried to avoid it as best I could. I won’t even try to explain myself because there’ll be no point to it. It will be a waste of breath because they wouldn't believe the truth if a signed affidavit was brought for proof. Couldn't get one of those in any case.

Ezra shook his head at the absurdity of his thoughts. Why should he worry about what those six men thought? Those men should mean nothing to him. Why should he wonder what a gang of unwashed, scraggly-haired gunslingers thought of him?

He leaned against the bars of the cell, careful of the inches of dust that seemed to have accumulated on the braces. 

The opinion of those men didn't matter in the least, he thought without believing it. They are not in my league -- no one shares my league.

Hell, I’ve done nothing to deserve any good consideration. I’ll get exactly what I deserve.

He pulled the cards from his pocket and shuffled them absently. He wondered what the others were doing. Probably sitting about their usual table in the saloon, playing a game of poker, crowing over their good luck. They would be enjoying a few beers, joking and laughing, having a good time.

Without him there, they'd be winning more than they were losing. They were probably enjoying the break.

He chuckled at the image and turned to the cell's window again, gazing out at the silvery moon, which seemed to be caught in the bars of the window. He'd always loved the moon. He felt almost akin to the lonely satellite. It waxed and waned, rose and fell, but it always returned. It filled him with a certain satisfaction to see the moon so full and rich, so perfectly round. If the moon could become so grand, couldn’t other things as well?

He returned his attention to the cards that flew through his hands as if they had a life of their own. The red pips were bleached to gray in the pale light, to contrast with the black. His jacket was as silver as the moon.

Hell, he knew he was fooling himself. The opinions of the others mattered a great deal to him, a great deal more than he thought possible. Perhaps if he explained the events to them, they would believe it. Maybe they’d listen. It was possible that they wouldn't fault him, wouldn’t mock him for his injury, wouldn’t scorn him absolutely. They might actually believe him. Couldn't they?

The cards paused in his hands and he stared at them in the light of the moon. Maybe...just maybe... they would believe him. He smiled, thinking that would be a wonderful birthday present.


	2. A Golden Glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra returns after spending an uncomfortable night in a jail cell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: PG... for some light swearing  
> STATUS: Complete  
> CATEGORY: OW - Sequel  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra, Chris, Buck and Nathan  
> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
> DATE: Originally Posted September 22, 2001

Chris Larabee pushed open the batwing doors of the saloon and looked out into the late day. The sun was low on the horizon, its long rays coating everything in a golden glow. Narrow shadows filled the empty street, creating sharp distinctions between dark and light. It was a quiet end to a quiet day where nothing really had happened.

Nothing at all.

Still, something plagued him, not allowing him to relax with the people of his town. Something was amiss and he couldn’t be calm until all was right again. He gazed down the street, which had doubled its length in a trick of light. The western sky was turning colors as the sun fell lower.

It was a beautiful time of day, when everything seemed edged in gold and the harsh desert sun became gentle in its dotage.

A soft sound alerted him that someone was moving down the street from the opposite direction. He turned in time to see Standish disappear into the livery with his horse. The glance hadn't been long, but Larabee received an impression of weariness from his stance, and the slow plodding of the horse.

Finally, Chris thought as he leaned against a roof support and pulled a cheroot from his pocket. He wouldn’t move from this spot until Ezra emerged. He chuckled, realizing that it might be a long wait. Standish always took an inordinate amount of time to put his horse away for the night.

It was late -- too damned late. Ezra should have been back for lunch, not sneaking in as the sun came down. Standish had promised yesterday in his telegram that he'd return today, and never sent word to explain the delay. Larabee had darkly considered that tomorrow they all might be heading out looking for the wily cardsharp. That was a task he never relished and the anticipation of it had put him in a foul mood for most of the afternoon.

Chris heard the door open behind him, and then felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Chris," Buck said. "What ya doin' out here?"

"Ezra just got back," Chris explained.

"'Bout time! Hell, he must have slept in 'til long past noon if he's just gettin' back now."

Chris nodded. "Least he made it in. We'll find out what went on when he decides to come out."

Buck laughed. “Best get comfortable.”

Buck waited beside Chris as the minutes ticked past and the sun touched the horizon, balancing there like a coin on a table, growing thicker as it stood on the verge of the world. The two said nothing. They were comfortable with each other’s presence and their quiet wait was quickly passed.

Finally Standish exited the livery and headed toward them. He moved in and out of the long shadows, between the dark and the light. He stopped in the middle of the street when he noticed them on the boardwalk, pausing for a long moment before he seemed to come to a decision and continued in their direction.

"Ezra," Chris greeted as he drew near.

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra drawled. He kept his head tilted as he spoke, leaving his head in shadow.

"How'd it go?"

"You received my message I hope?"

"Yeah. Got it right on time. You got us the information we needed."

"Very well then. You know all there is to know."

"Any trouble?"

"With retrieving the information? None whatsoever. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to go to my room." He held up one hand and tried to push past the two men.

Buck stepped back and his new viewpoint allowed him a good glance at Standish. "What the hell happened to you?" he exclaimed.

Ezra tried to tilt his head even further, but Chris grabbed hold of his shoulder and spun him into the light that still found a path through the street. "Damn it, Ezra. What went on?" Half of Ezra's face was a vivid bruise, fully closing his left eye.

"I ran into some difficulty," Ezra responded quietly.

"That's for sure!" Buck added. He whistled low, grabbing hold of Ezra's chin so that he could turn his head to get a better view of the damage.

Ezra flinched and tried to step away, but neither of the men would release him, and he had become backed up against a roof support with no way to easily flee. "If you'll excuse me," he growled.

"Not 'til you explain what happened," Chris returned.

Nathan appeared at the doors to the saloon. He came to a halt when he realized that some sort of a confrontation was going on. He didn't want to get in the way.

"Nate, get over here and have a look at this," Buck said with a gesture.

Nathan stepped forward, curious now and sighed when he saw why the two men had pinned Standish. "Ezra," he muttered. "What did you do?”

Ezra returned, “Fought. Lost.”

“Looks that way,” Nathan responded. “Let’s go to the clinic. I can get a poultice together that will help with that swelling.” He rattled off, “Maybe slippery elm bark and milk, or carbonate of soda or tincture of opium in water. One of those should do the trick.”

“A nice raw steak does a good job,” Buck supplied.

“Please,” Ezra moaned, “I will not be experimented upon.”

Nathan frowned as he drew closer. Buck helped by forcibly turning Ezra’s head so that Jackson could get a good look. "Can you see okay?” He asked, concern in his voice, noting the extent of the injury. “You get any double-vision? Blurry? Your eye hurt a lot? Headache or anything?"

Ezra responded, "Up until the time that I couldn't open my eye any longer, my vision was fine."

"What about the pain? Headache?" Nathan asked, tapping the side of his head for emphasis.

"Nothing extraordinary." The set of Ezra’s jaw undermined the comment somewhat. Nathan could tell that he wasn’t free of pain.

“You got any other pokes in you?”

“No,” Ezra responded, glaring at Buck, who still held him in place. “If you’re finished with your inquiries, perhaps I’d be allowed to reach my room?”

"Come on then," Buck said, releasing Ezra's chin and grabbing hold of his arm. "Let's go to Nate's and get you fixed up."

"There's no need," Ezra replied wearily.

"Hang on, Buck," Chris responded, keeping a stilling hand on Ezra's chest. "He ain't goin' anywhere until he explains what happened."

"There's no reason to worry, Mr. Larabee." Ezra gestured to his swollen face. "This has nothing to do with my mission in the town. This will not lead back to you or to our fair village. I doubt if anyone would have believed me if I had told them of my status in Four Corners."

"Wasn't what I was getting at, Ezra." Larabee’s expression softened as he realized that his tactics weren't working. "I just want to know what happened."

Ezra's one eye darted away and he sighed in resignation. "After I had completed the task you had assigned to me, I went to the saloon and try their tables. Unfortunately, a gentleman who joined the game saw fit to play with a marked deck." He smiled ironically. "I didn't want any trouble, so instead of voicing any accusations, I offered a deck of my own. The man took umbrage and accused me of cheating." He paused a moment. "I explained that I only meant to keep the game honest."

"Uh-huh," Nathan said.

Ezra sighed again. "The others at the table doubted my ability to play with any integrity and sided with the man with the marked deck. They sought to have me ousted. I declared that I was offended by their accusations because I wasn't the one at fault. It was at this time that the difficulty arose. When the deputy arrived to break up the fight, I was accused of defrauding the local townsmen and disrupting the peace. I was summarily taken to spend the night in the town's jail."

Buck grimaced. "Last time I seen that jail, it looked like it ain't ever been cleaned. Is it still that bad?"

"Worse perhaps," Ezra conceded. He looked from one man to the other, waiting for their questions and condemnations.

"You get him?" Nathan asked.

"Get?"

"The guy with the marked deck. You get any licks in on him?"

Ezra waited a moment, studying Nathan with his one good eye. "I believe he may be having trouble eating for the next few days, what with the broken teeth."

"Good!" Buck exclaimed.

"Serves him right," Nathan added.

"Glad to hear it," Chris said with a grin, which brought a confused look to Ezra. "The deputy kept you locked up all night?" Chris asked.

Ezra nodded.

"You explain to him what went on?"

"I did. His preconceived ideas made him somewhat deaf to my entreaties. He let me know that he wished to hear no more."

Chris furrowed his brow at this comment, noting the slight flinch Ezra failed to hide.

"If what yer sayin' is, 'he's a son of a bitch,' then I agree," Buck stated, steering Standish toward the stairs. "Next time we get to that town, maybe Chris and I'll take 'im down a peg or two."

"Weren't right," Nathan mumbled, starting up the stairs ahead of the others.

Ezra paused at the bottom of the stairs, his bafflement evident as he looked back to Chris.

"Wouldn’t have happened like that if I was there," Chris assured him. "I wouldn't have allowed it."

Ezra’s lips twitched and his right eye switched between Wilmington and Larabee and then he turned to take in Jackson as well.

Nathan shrugged. "We would've backed you up," Jackson stated. "Let you have your say at least."

"Sure, Ezra," Buck said smoothly, seeing the look on his friend’s face. "We’d have done somethin’ about it. Hell, we might have ended up in the jail ‘long side you, but at least we would’ve had some fun gettin’ there.” He slapped Standish on the shoulder. “Come on, hoss. Let's get ya doctored up so your eye don't hurt so much. Maybe we’ll spare the steak and have Inez cook it up for us, huh? Bet you’re hungry."

Chris followed behind as Buck tugged Ezra up the stairs. When they reached the top, Ezra turned to face him again, smiling broadly. Chris returned the expression. "So, what have you got to be so pleased about?" Larabee asked.

"A wish granted," Ezra returned. He gestured for Nathan to continue and they headed into the clinic as the sun finally sunk from sight, leaving behind only a golden glow.

THE END


End file.
